


Just for one night

by Jya



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Sarcasm, Underage Drinking, Wit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jya/pseuds/Jya
Summary: Fushimi and Yata spend an unexpected Christmas Eve together. Drinking and.... more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my laptop since last Christmas when I failed to finish it. It didn't seem right to post it any other time. Merry Christmas friends!

Misaki’s eyes cracked open, eyes falling upon the vaulted wooden ceiling. He stared up in confusion before forcing himself to sit up in the unfamiliar bed. A shiver wracked his body, which ached in protest against the movement, and he clenched his eyes, willing the pain in his head to subside.

“Ah, so you’re alive after all.”

Misaki looked to his left to find Saruhiko, clad completely in black, leaning against the wall looking rather bored, ankles crossed, arms folded across his chest and short glass in hand. Of all the places to wake up, Misaki thought to himself. He knew he must be in Saruhiko’s apartment. Only here would he be dressed in sweats. Normally Misaki would start shouting, demanding to know how he got there, but he thought better of it, seriously lacking the energy to do anything more than sit up.

“The fuck happened?” He said calmly, feeling too dazed to say much more.

“I stumbled across your unconscious form in the middle of a group of farming greens contemplating whether or not they needed to kill you earn their 3000 points.

“And let me guess, they saw you, realized you were worth more, and lost interest in me.” He spat.

“Moral of the story is that I disposed of them, and rather than leaving you to freeze to death in the snow, a temporary lapse in judgment seems to have brought you here.”

“Great, well that was a nice story. I think I’ll be going now,” Misaki said, wrenching the soft blankets back. He immediately regretted it, losing the little warmth he had.

“Sure, go for it,” Saruhiko said, taking a sip from his glass, looking not at all fazed, but watching curiously as Misaki swung his legs onto the floor. “It’s not like it’s blizzarding outside or anything. Oh and –“ Misaki hopped off the bed, only to crumple to the ground with a howl of pain.

“Then there’s that,” Saruhiko said. “Your ankle is wrecked.”

“Shit,” Misaki whined through gritted teeth. “Thanks for the heads up, idiot.”

“I also cleaned and dressed that gash on your forehead. I couldn’t be sure about your ankle until you tried to put weight on it, but I guessed from the swelling that it was some kind of a sprain.”

“Why would you let me stand on it?! What if it’s broken?! Huh?!” Misaki put his hand to his forehead and winced as he found the bandage Saruhiko had applied. He remained on the floor, glancing around at his surroundings.

“How did you get me here?”

“How do you think? I abandoned my groceries and friggen princess dragged your ass up all six flights of stairs.

The image of Saruhiko carrying Misaki through the halls and laying him on the bed played itself over in Misaki’s mind. Once again, he shivered, though he suspected this time it wasn’t entirely due to the cold.

“Damnit, I need to get out of here,” Misaki insisted, looking for something to hang onto while he attempted to get to his feet.

“You had no cell phone on you, so either the thugs that attacked you stole it, or you were dumb enough to leave it at home. What the fuck were you thinking anyway? Taking on those jerks alone?”

“Pfft, I thought you of all people would understand why I operate alone. It’s not as if I have a partner anymore,” he said bitterly. He grabbed onto the frame of the bed and attempted to use it to stabilize himself, but the leverage wasn’t enough and he fell back to the floor.

Saruhiko couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ughh!! Help me you idiot!” Misaki barked.

After a moment Saruhiko complied, approaching him and offering his right hand. “I thought you were fighting with Kamamoto now,” he said, easily pulling Misaki to his feet.

“That fat ass? He just slows me down,” Misaki said, keeping his weight off of his injured left foot and leaning back against the bed.

“Well, in case you didn’t realize while you were out there, it’s snowing, sitting at -20 degrees without wind chill, and the wind has just picked up. The roads are a mess, and you obviously can’t walk home.”

“So what do you suggest, idiot?” He asks, turning himself so he could see the window. It was indeed snowing sideways.

“Believe me, I have been over every viable option. Unless you’d like to call Kusanagi at 7pm on Christmas Eve and ask him to bear the storm and risk his life driving in this weather, only to have to park 4 blocks down because the roads are closed and walk up here and drag your ass back to the bar, then your options are pretty limited.”

Misaki looked taken aback. “It’s Christmas Eve… shit!”

“Besides, you were nearly hypothermic when I found you,” Saruhiko said, his tone a little less vicious. “And somehow you managed to avoid frostbite to your hands, but you were close. You aren’t supposed to warm a person back up unless there’s zero risk of re-freezing. So unfortunately for both of us, it looks like you’re stuck here,” he said, back to his annoyed tone.

“And when did you obtain your MD?” Misaki said, his tone retaining its bitterness.

Just then a phone began buzzing.

Saruhiko turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen counter.

Misaki glanced around the room. He’d never seen this place before. Saruhiko’s apartment was all one big room, save for the bathroom . It had a small kitchen with a two person table and a short bar counter enclosing it from the living room, which housed a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. A large television, also covered with dust, sat opposite a brown leather couch and a low coffee table. A large paneled window with soft light brown curtains took up most of the far wall. The wall dipped into a closet, then a bathroom, and the double bed on which Misaki was currently leaning. There were two large boxes near the front door, both bearing Saruhiko’s last name. Misaki had a sneaking suspicion that the taller of the two boxes held a Christmas tree.

“Fushimi,” Saruhiko said, answering his phone. He clearly made no attempt at a business like tone. It seemed unlike him.

“Yep,” he said in his usual boring manner.

“Yes, he’s here.” Saruhiko looked over to Misaki. “I found him lying on the side of the road half frozen.”

“Alright, I will. Yes, he’s fine.” His expression looked rather regrettable, and if he’d attempted to hide the dismay in his voice, he didn’t do a very good job.

He pulled his phone away from his ear and ended the call. Misaki looked up questioning.

“Apparently Kusanagi called Awashima-kun asking if they’d seen you. You’re supposed to call Kusanagi.” He handed Misaki his phone.

Misaki took the phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Yata-chan?” Kusanagi said, sounding a bit frantic.

“How did you know?”

“Well it’s not like Fushimi is going to be calling me.”

“Oh, right.”

“What happened?”

“The greens are dirty fighters.” He said, leaving it at that. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his defeat, never mind the fact that it was Saruhiko who had bailed him out.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m stuck here for the night.” He said, trying to hide the disappointment in his words. He was sure he’d already missed the dinner at the bar, but something about being away from his surrogate family on Christmas Eve bothered him.

“I don’t think I can drive, but I can come meet you?” Kusanagi offered.

“I can’t walk. My ankles screwed. It’s fine, I think Saru will let me stay here.”

“You sure? Should you be going to the hospital?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said. He didn’t want Kusanagi to feel bad enough that he ventured out into the storm on Christmas Eve. So he tried to sound like he didn’t care.

“Well make sure Saruhiko is ok with it.”

“Saru, promise you won’t throw me out in the streets?” He asked, holding the phone away from his mouth, but still close enough that Kusanagi could hear.

“Are you kidding me? After all the work it took to drag you _in_ from the streets?”

Misaki raised his eyebrows at the unusually slender boy in front of him.

“As long as you behave yourself,” Saruhiko said in a bored tone, so that Kusanagi could hear.

“Catch that?” Misaki asked Kusanagi.

“Behave yourself Yata-chan. I’ll come get you in the morning.”

“Ok,” he said, trying to hide any hesitation attempting to creep into his words.

“Merry Christmas.”

“You too.” He hung up the phone, resigned to the fact that he was stuck with Saruhiko for the night. He glanced down at the phone for a split second before holding it up.

“Feeling sentimental, Misaki?” Saruhiko asked tauntingly.

“Shut up.”

He took to inspecting his ankle to distract himself. Only now did he notice he was wearing different clothes, meaning Saruhiko had changed them. It disturbed him, but he decided not to comment.

His left ankle was indeed quite swollen and moderately discolored on the outside.

“If I hadn’t seen the greens surrounding you, I would have assumed you’d fallen off your skate board, passed out in the snow and almost froze to death,” Saruhiko said humorously, draining his glass in a single mouthful.

Misaki turned to shoot him a dirty look, then realized he was swaying slightly on the wall. “What are you drinking?”

“Single Malt. Want some? It’ll take the edge off the pain,” He said.

“You aren’t old enough to drink…” Misaki commented.

“Is that a no?”

“And you work for a police force…”

“Misaki, you hang out with a gang of thugs and you live in a bar. Are you telling me you’ve never had a drink before?”

Misaki jerked his head away, his eyes back on his swollen ankle.

“I suppose Kusanagi isn’t really the type to allow underage drinking. Good to know someone around there is responsible.”

“How did you get it?”

Fushimi leaned carelessly on the counter, tilting his glass as if to dislodge something from beneath the ice cubes.

“Awashima-kun thinks I need to relieve my stress. This one was actually a Christmas gift.” He said, opening a cupboard above the stove revealing probably 20 liquor bottles, and pulling down a short, fancy square bottle.

“How long have you been drinking like this?”

“Do you want some or not?”

“God, I knew you had issues but I didn’t realize you were drowning them in alcohol.”

“You should be glad I am, otherwise I may have just left you lying out there in the snow. Come on Misaki, its Christmas. Join me.”

“Fine,” Misaki said. He wasn’t about to spend the night sober while Saruhiko got completely wasted. Besides, his injuries were nagging.

“Are you staying in bed or are you going to hobble on over here?” Saruhiko asked, pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

Feeling slightly unclean having been in Saruhiko’s bed, Misaki climbed off the mattress, got himself vertical, and managed to hop from the bed to the low bar stool on his right foot while Saruhiko laughed at him.

He sat down, his head spinning, and the brunette put a glass of amber liquid in front of him. Judging just by the smell wafting from it, he was not going to like the taste.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Misaki asked, distracted, looking up from the revolting glass. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Well I doubt it would have anything to do with the fact that you nearly froze to death an hour ago,” Saruhiko said sarcastically. Misaki wished he would hurry up and have another drink. Maybe it would make him friendlier.

“That and the fact that with wind-chill its almost -40 outside. This is an old building; the windows are paper thin.” Saruhiko turned his back on the redhead and turned up the thermostat. “Now are you going to try that?”

Rather than allow Saruhiko to watch him hesitate anymore, he fearlessly took a large gulp of the awful smelling liquid. His face contorted in disgust and he managed to swallow it. It tasted like burning cough syrup mixed with gasoline. “You mean to tell me you actually _like_ this stuff?” He demanded, holding the glass up to eye level.

“I suppose you could say it’s an acquired taste.”

“Why would anyone want to acquire a taste for that?!”

“Man up and take another sip,” Saruhiko said, sipping his own refilled drink.

Misaki did as he was told. As he was expecting the burning feeling this time, he managed to attain a sense for another feeling as the burning left his throat.

“It’s warming, right?” Saruhiko said, nailing down exactly what Misaki was feeling.

“I guess so,” Misaki said, still glaring at the glass with distaste.

“When was the last time you ate?” Saruhiko asked.

“I’m not sure. What times is it?” He asked, glancing around the room for a clock. “Probably around lunch time.”

“Daaang that’s going to hit you hard then.”

“How many have you had?” Misaki asked, attempting another sip.

He held up the bottle, which was about a quarter empty. “This many?”

“God you’re already drunk.”

“Better hurry up and catch up,” Saruhiko laughed.

“Do you have any food?” Misaki asked.

“Probably,” Saruhiko said, pulling open a cupboard. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Misaki straightened up, attempting to see what was in the cupboard. Various types of healthy cereals were visible. A second cupboard revealed canned food, beans, vegetables and sauces. Saruhiko quickly closed it.

“Man, you don’t eat this shit. Who the hell does your shopping?”

“Awashima was putting in orders for Munakata and I for a while, but that stopped not long ago.”

“You blues are so spoiled. And you still eat like an eight year old.”

“Tch.”

“What am I saying? Even 8 year olds eat healthier than you do.”

“Well I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Saruhiko said, taking another large gulp.

All Misaki could do was scoff. His terrible diet paired with his excessive drinking habits was past laughable. It was worrisome.

“Don’t even open that freezer. If I see boxes of ice cream they’re going out the window.

“Wouldn’t do them much harm right now,” Saruhiko said, moving to the fridge.

Misaki hopped off his stool and hobbled around the counter and over the fridge.

“Ugh, of course it’s full of pop. You still don’t eat any vegetables?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was going to be having company tonight,” Saruhiko said, the only thing masking his seriously annoyed tone was the alcohol, and it was so strong that Misaki could smell it on him.

“Alright get out of the way,” Misaki said, leaning on the fridge door for support. “What _do_ you have?” He peered inside. Well he had an entire jug of milk and a block of cheese.

“Do you have any kind of pasta?” Misaki asked.

Saruhiko opened a couple of cupboards then pulled out an unopened bag of macaroni.

“Perfect,” Misaki said. “Flour?”

Pulling open the same cupboard once more, he extracted an unopened bag of flour.

“Geez, what else do you have in there? Awashima-san must have stocked that one.”

“Probably,” Saruhiko said, returning his attention to his drink.

Half an hour later and with absolutely no help from Saruhiko, Misaki had a large dish of macaroni and cheese in the oven. He figured that given the fact that Saruhiko would likely be eating this for a few days, he ought to make something he actually liked.

“Wow, you got through an entire meal without the use of vegetables,” Saruhiko teased.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Misaki said, hauling himself up onto the counter beside the stove.

“Now that we aren’t at risk of you burning my apartment down, you can finish this,” Saruhiko said, placing his glass in front of him and then downing the rest of his own.

“Mannn! Let’s do shots!” Saruhiko proclaimed.

“You’re already drunk,” Misaki commented.

“But you’re not!”

Saruhiko didn’t wait for a response. He simply pulled down four shot glasses and buried his head in his liquor cabinet.

“Alright I’ll make you a deal,” Misaki said, finishing his own drink and beginning to feel the tingling in his legs.

“You’re in my apartment, Misaki, not exactly in a bargaining position.

Misaki ignored this.

“I will do the shots with you. BUT! After the shots, we’re setting up that Christmas tree,” He insisted, pointing at the box in the corner of the room.

“How d’you figure it’s a Christmas tree?” Saruhiko asked.

“Because nothing else comes in a box that shape at this time of year. And if it were something interesting, you would have opened it by now.”

“Touché.”

“Alright,” Saruhiko said, “3 shots and you have yourself a deal.” He pulled out two more shot glasses.

“Why on earth do you have so many of those? Do you just line them up and do them all yourself?”

“What I do on my time is none of your business,” Saruhiko said.

Misaki simply stared back at the index finger in his face, unimpressed. “Whatever, Saru.”

“Alright _Mi-sa-ki_ ,” Saruhiko said, enunciating each syllable of his name, “time for you to get off your sober horse and let loose.”

He poured 3 different bottles into 3 pairs of shot glasses, filling each to the rim. Misaki noted how expertly he poured the liquor, and he found himself honestly wondering how much Saruhiko drank. He had never given two shits about his health or his diet before; maybe he had taken it to a new low.

“Why do you want to set up the tree anyway? It’s not like there will be anything going underneath.” Saruhiko said, placing the 6 glasses next to Misaki.

“Because there’s not a trace of the holidays in here. It’s depressing.” Misaki said.

“Alright, this one first,” Saruhiko said, picking up the darkest brown one. “Think you can do three straight in a row? Or do you need to stop and regain your composure.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Misaki said, holding up the first.

Saruhiko gave him a look of disbelief, held his shot glass up, touched it to the side of Misaki’s, then dumped the liquid down his throat.

Misaki followed suit, immediately regretting his decision to do all three in a row. His throat burned tenfold compared to whiskey and his face twisted against his will. He stilled himself quickly, picking up the second one. This time he missed his throat entirely, and the liquid sloshed around in his mouth, burning his entire palate. He forced it down, gagged slightly in the process, and coughed hard.

“You alright?” Saruhiko said, third glass in hand. His face was not at all contorted.

Misaki didn’t reply, he simply picked up the last one and tossed it back, just wanting it to be over.

He continued to cough after, and Saruhiko, grin still flat across his face, placed a can of soda on the counter beside Misaki.

Misaki took it and drank desperately from it, the carbonation feeling like nothing compared to the burning alcohol.

“I’m almost impressed,” Saruhiko laughed.

“What is wrong with you?!” Misaki spat. “Why on earth would anybody want to do shots?”

“Just give it a minute,” Saruhiko said.

But Misaki didn’t need a minute. He could feel the effects already. His legs were tingling, his head was growing slightly foggy and his stomach felt like it was ready to regurgitate the searing contents it had just been forced to accept.

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling as though his verbal filter had evaporated as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“I bet your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore,” Saruhiko commented, sipping on his own can of soda.

His ankle was now the least of his worries, at least until he needed to jump off the counter and run for the toilet. “You have serious fucking thrill issues.”

Saruhiko opened his mouth to respond, but a rush of wind hit the window and rattled it as the lights flickered in the apartment.

“Well we might be celebrating Christmas Eve in the dark,” Saruhiko said.

“I did my part, now get that damn Christmas tree out of that box!” Misaki demanded, letting himself down off the counter.

“Ugh, I was hoping you’d forget,” Saruhiko said.

“Not a chance! And where is your computer? We need some Christmas music in here.”

“Holy shit what have I gotten myself into?” Saruhiko said.

“Lighten up, Monkey, it’s Christmas Eve,” Misaki said, the pit of his stomach feeling warmer than ever and his spirit soaring high along the steady flow of alcohol he’d just ingested.

“Well, I’m going to need a couple more of these,” Saruhiko said, reaching for his bottle of scotch again.

“What’s your password?” Misaki asked. He’d hopped across the kitchen to get to Saruhiko’s laptop and was now trying different passwords.

“Right, like I’d disclose that information to you,” Saruhiko said, pulling the computer to face himself and quickly typing in the password before Misaki could see. He sighed and pushed it back towards Misaki before returning to his empty scotch glass.

Within seconds Misaki had “It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas’ playing. He had bounced over to the box containing the tree, and Saruhiko poured his glass a little more full this time.

“Do you have scissors?” Misaki asked, picking ruthlessly at the tape holding the box closed.

Saruhiko took a long drink, then with a lazy flick of his wrist, extended a knife from his sleeve and no sooner the box was lying flat on the ground.

“You’re scary, you know that right?” Misaki said, standing back from the box.

“Tch,” Saruhiko clicked his tongue, another flick of his wrist and the knife was gone.

Misaki turned back to the tree, or rather pieces of tree lying on the ground. “Oh, it’s taller than I thought it would be,” he said, leaning over to pick up the first piece. “Shit!” He swore as he lost his balance, trying to stand on his one good leg. He ended up in a heap with the parts of the tree around him.

Fushimi burst into a very uncharacteristic laughter.

Misaki could only conclude that he was drunk.

“Quit laughing and help me you idiot!”

Saruhiko took another drink, emptying his glass once more.

“Jesus, slow down you maniac,” Misaki said, almost seriously.

“Be quiet,” Saruhiko said, placing the glass down and walking unsteadily to where Misaki sat on the ground amongst the branches of the tree. He offered Misaki his hand, which Misaki took and pulled.

But Saruhiko was as unsteady as Misaki had thought, and he too came toppling down on top of the pile.

“Ouch!” Misaki wailed as Saruhiko landed on his bad foot. “DAMMIT SARU!”

But Saruhiko was just laughing as he extracted himself from the pile and once more offered his hand.

Misaki took it more gently this time, and managed to get to his feet without further injury.

“We should bandage your ankle or something,” Saruhiko said, pointing at the swollen joint.

“Why didn’t you suggest that earlier?” Misaki growled, his teeth gritted.

“Get in the chair,” Saruhiko said, pointing at the bar stool, turning to head in the direction of his bathroom.

He returned to find Misaki obediently parked in the chair, his good leg resting on the other stool, his bad leg folded across so he could examine the discolored ankle.

“Do you need me to do it?” Saruhiko asked, watching Misaki struggle with his lack of flexibility, the elastic bandage in his hand.

“Can you?”

“Can I? Or will I? What do you say, Misaki?”

“Please?”

“Drink,” Saruhiko said, pulling Misaki’s mysteriously full glass closer to him, then he took to bandaging the ankle.

“Thanks, now can you put the tree together?” Misaki asked, a huge grin on his face.

Saruhiko sighed. “You and this damn tree.”

“You just have to get it standing. I can help after that!”

“Fine, finish the drink.”

Saruhiko turned and assessed the situation at his feet. Misaki watched him take inventory of the parts, and began by picking up the tree stand and surveying the room.

“Right here!” Misaki said, pointing at the small vacant spot next to the fireplace.

Saruhiko sighed once more, and set the stand down before adding the rest of the pieces.

“Nice!” Misaki, who was really starting to feel the drinks, exclaimed. “Ok, where are the lights?” He asked, hopping off the stool again, nearly losing his balance again and catching himself on the edge of the counter.

“You’re an idiot,” Saruhiko said, pulling the second box closer. He retrieved a knife from his sleeve and made short work of the tape covering the top.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled as he opened the box.

“What? Oh wow!” The box was chocked full of ornaments and lights and garland. “We could decorate your whole apartment with this!”

“Unfortunately for you, you can’t walk. It will be the tree and nothing more,” Saruhiko said.

“Fine,” Misaki snorted, reaching into the box to pull out a neatly coiled strand of lights. “Can you plug this in?”

“Why? It isn’t even on the tree yet,” Saruhiko said, taking the end of the cord from Misaki, a puzzled expression on his face.

“So we can see what we’re doing when we wind it around the tree! Come on Saru, haven’t you done this before?”

“Excuse me, as _I_ wind it around the tree?”

“Yes, I can’t walk, remember?”

“How about you hobble on around that counter and pour me another drink if you’re going to make me do all the work?”

He plugged the cord in and the white lights lit up vibrantly.

“Start at the bottom,” Misaki said as Saruhiko eyed the top of the tree.

“Tch.”

Misaki climbed over the counter and grabbed the now nearly empty bottle, pouring the remainder of the contents into the two empty glasses.

By the time the glasses were empty again, the tree was covered with lights, and had nearly more ornaments than it could hold.

“I think you should stop,” Saruhiko said, placing his empty glass on the counter, “it’s going to break if you put anything else on it.”

“Whatever Saru, it looks fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Right.”

The wind rushed outside, pounding what sounded like sleet against the window, and both boys looked in that direction.

BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP

The alarm on the oven went off.

“Oh shit I forget we had food!”

“I’ll get it,” Saruhiko said, “sit your ass down and don’t hurt yourself.”

He flicked the obnoxious timer off, and pulled the oven door open before realizing he was missing something.

“Shit.”

“You don’t own an oven mitt do you?!”

“Of course I do!”

“Oh right, Awakshima wouldn’t let you go without, would she?”

“I just don’t know where it is.”

“Use the towel?” Misaki said.

“What? How?”

“Oh god, just move,” Misaki said, hopping around the counter, grabbing the dish towel and retrieving the heavy, steaming dish.”

“That looks good,” Saruhiko commented as Misaki placed it atop the stove and closed the door.

“Of course it does. I’m a damn good cook, remember?”

“Hmmmm.” Saruhiko mumbled nonchalantly.

“Damn Saru, even with the oven on it’s freezing cold in here!”

“I turned the heat on! Do you want another sweater?”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really,” he replied

“That’s probably because you’re drunk.”

“I am not.”

“Oh yes you are.”

“Not yet. Hmm, this is gone already. What should we drink next?”

“You have a problem, you know that?”

“No I don’t. I have plenty more scotch where that came from,” he said, opening the cupboard door.

Misaki shook his head.

“Here, Munakata bought me this one. Let’s try it,” he said, screwing off the top.

Misaki was more focused on serving the macaroni into bowls without losing his balance again. He could feel the alcohol making him dizzy.

The wind pounded against the window once more, and this time the lights flickered.

“Uhhhhh?” Misaki said questioningly.

“Heh, wouldn’t that be funny if the power went out?” Saruhiko laughed, pushing another glass full of darker brown liquid in his direction.

“Oh yeah, hilarious.” Misaki said, handing the bowls to Saruhiko. “Can we please sit down?”

“Right,” Saruhiko said, taking the bowls and placing them on the table. “Sit.”

Misaki sat, and Saruhiko placed a spoon and a drink in front of him.

“Cheers,” He said, holding up his own drink as he seated himself across the table.

Misaki tapped his drink against Saruhiko’s. “Maybe this shit is good for you. You’re less of a jerk when you’re drunk.”

“Think so, do you? Misaki?” Saruhiko asked, flicking a noodle at Misaki’s face.

“Hey! That’s for eating, not throwing!”

“You sound like an old woman.”

“Says the guy drunk on scotch.”

“Scotch is a sophisticated drink.”

“Well, you might want to switch to something else then, because I don’t think it’s working.”

Saruhiko shut his mouth and tasted his food. “Damn Misaki, you’ve improved.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Misaki tasted his own food, and found that he too was surprised at how good it was. “What kind of cheese was that?”

“I don’t know. The white kind?”

“White isn’t a type of cheese, Saru.”

“It’s what was on sale.”

“It must be some kind of super aged cheddar. It’s awesome!”

Saruhiko was just pulling the dishes into the sink and Misaki was wrapping up the rest of the pasta (which was a lot, he noted) when the lights flickered again. But this time, they flickered twice and died.

“Crap,” Saruhiko said.

The only light left in the room was that of Saruhiko’s laptop.

“Oh shit! Now what?!” Misaki demanded, his shoulders tensing.

“What do you mean now what? That means we go to bed,” Saruhiko said. “This happens whenever there’s a storm.”

“But it’s freezing outside. We’re going to freeze!”

“Mmm right, that.”

“You have a fireplace right? Do you have wood?”

“I remember someone telling me there was some downstairs somewhere.”

“Oh great, let’s go investigate the basement of this place in the pitch black. That sounds like an awesome opportunity.” Misaki said almost frantically.

“You’re not going anywhere. You can’t walk. I think I know where it’s supposed to be,” Saruhiko said, taking a large sip from his drink.

“Dammit, I need some crutches or SOMETHING!”

“Heh, I never thought of that,” Saruhiko said observantly. “I actually have some. They’ll probably be MUCH too tall for you though, Misaki.”

“Shit why didn’t you say so hours ago?” Misaki asked.

Saruhiko headed over to his closet and dug in the back. It had been ages ago that he’d fractured his ankle. Maybe he was closer to Misaki’s height. But he laughed at the thought. Neither of them had grown since their friendship had fallen apart. He retrieved the stainless steel crutches, and eyed the bolts on the bottom. Thankfully, they had been on the tallest setting and could be adjusted for Misaki.

“I still think you should wait here,” Saruhiko said, positioning the crutches in front of him. “Or are you afraid of the dark?” He teased.

“I am NOT!” Misaki insisted, leaning on the crutches, which were now the perfect height for him. “Thanks,” he said timidly.

“Alright fine, you want to come with, come with,” Saruhiko said, lighting up the flashlight on his phone.

“Don’t you have an actual flashlight?”

“Somewhere. I’ll find it when we get back. The battery on this phone is almost dead.”

“Great, so we’re going to get trapped downstairs with no lights?”

“Shh, Misaki. It’ll be ok.”

Saru pocketed his keys and headed out the door, Misaki close on his heels.

“Shit its cold out here!” Misaki exclaimed as they exited the apartment.

Saruhiko turned to him quickly, then delayed his reaction. “Do you want another sweater?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Misaki said, putting his tough guy persona back up.

Saruhiko stared at him, seeing right through him, but made no further comment. He locked his door and headed for the stairs.

“Why the hell did I let you come along? You’re not going to hobble down 12 flights of stairs.”

“What? I can do it, I’m fine,” he said, attempting to take a step on his own.

“No Misaki, get back in the apartment.” Saruhiko said strictly, his emotion shining through the cracks created by the alcohol. “There’s enough emergency lighting for you to find your way back. Take the keys.”

He handed the keys to a surprised Misaki. “Saru…”

“Go!” Saruhiko said firmly. “I’ll be back soon.”

“But you’re going to carry all that wood on your own?” Misaki asked timidly.

“You think you’re going to be able to help? I’d rather go alone and not have to worry about you breaking your neck in addition to your ankle.”

“Fine,” Misaki said, sounding hurt.

Saruhiko ignored it, and continued down the stairs.

Misaki, defeated, hobbled back to the apartment. He let himself back in and left the door unlocked before heading over to the fireplace.

The apartment felt colder already. The thin windows were leaching all of the heat produced by the oven and the thermostat. Hopefully the fire could replace some of the lost warmth.

He found a stack of old newspapers conveniently sitting right next to the fire. Dropping the crutches against the wall, he sat on the floor and crumpled up newspaper, wondering if Saruhiko even knew how to start a fire. He could be brilliant at times, but he often missed the obvious things because of it.

After a good five minutes of crumpling paper and staring into the dark fireplace, Misaki began to worry slightly, and decided he needed to distract himself with another drink. Standing up was harder than moving himself into the kitchen, but he managed to fill his glass and was about to take a sip when Saruhiko came crashing through the door, wood spilling all over the entry way.

“Whoever thought building a building with no elevator was a good idea was an absolute moron,” Saruhiko said, swaying slightly in the doorway. Misaki thought to himself that doing shots and loading up on rye and scotch before venturing out in the dark down 12 flights of stairs probably made you equally as much of a moron, but he bit his tongue. He was grateful that Saruhiko had gone.

“I think the alcohol hit me half way down the stairs.” Saruhiko said, kneeling to the ground and steadying himself as he collected the wood.

“At least you didn’t fall. Did you find the wood stash ok?”

“I walked into a door frame, but yes, I found it. There were a few other people going so I followed them. Here,” he said, dropping the wood beside Misaki.

“Do you know how to make a fire?”

“Sure, set flame to a fuel source and make sure it has oxygen.”

“Maybe you should try. Actually, on second thought I already did all the work.”

“Hey, I ran up and down the stairs, walked into a wall and got covered with splinters,” Saruhiko said, pulling his sweater over his head. He quickly replaced it with a grey hoodie that he pulled off of his bed. “Your turn to do some work.”

“Whatever,” Misaki said, laying a few small pieces of wood across the paper and flicking his aura to ignite the paper.

The fire quickly burned through the paper, and the previously glowing, radiant flames condensed, barely clinging to the small pieces of wood in several spots. Misaki blew on the flames, absently wondering if the alcohol on his breath would do anything for the fire.

“You killed it,” Saruhiko said, clicking his tongue then approaching the fire, a drink in hand.

“No I didn’t!” Misaki argued. “This is how it works.”

He blew gently on the flames, adding another piece of crumpled paper and watching it burst into flames. More wood caught this time, and a small but healthy glow engulfed the fireplace.

“You got lucky,” Saruhiko said, his words slurring.

“You’re so wrecked right now.” Misaki said.

“So what, finish that glass and I bet you’ll be right there with me,” Saruhiko said, every word sounding more and more intoxicated.

“Maybe I will,” Misaki said, picking up his glass and taking several large sips of the brown liquid, his throat now all but immune to the burning sensation. It didn’t help the taste at all though.

“I gotta admit, you’re holding this better than I thought you would,” Saruhiko said, sitting next to Misaki and folding his legs under him.

“Just because you’re a lightweight doesn’t mean I am,” Misaki said, feeling his own words starting to lag. “Did you turn all the lights off?’

“What?”

“When the power goes out you’re supposed to turn all the light switches off.”

“Why?” Saruhiko asked, glancing around the room.

“I don’t know you’re just supposed to!”

“Fine,” Saruhiko said, pulling himself off the ground once more. “Damn it’s getting cold in here. What’s the hold up on that fire?”

“It’s coming!”

“Maybe we should give it a drink,” Saruhiko laughed, walking around the room and flicking off all the light switches. He closed his computer and the room went completely dark save for the fire. “Oh shit, where’s my flashlight?”

“Do you have candles?” Misaki asked.

“That sounds romantic,” Saruhiko teased.

Misaki ignored it, sipping on his drink.

“I think there might have been some in that Christmas box actually,” Saruhiko said, digging in the box.

When he returned to sit next to Misaki he had the bottle of scotch, two candles, a flashlight and the duvet from his bed. He dropped the blanket over Misaki’s shoulders.

“I feel like this drunk is happening too slow. Do you wanna do shot for shot?” Saruhiko asked, folding his legs under him once more as he lit both candles and set them on the table behind them.

“What’s shot for shot? Isn’t that a punching game?” Misaki asked.

“No, for every shot I take, you have to take a shot too. It’s a drinking game.”

“Sounds more dangerous than punching.”

“Probably. I’m not getting up again, so we’re doing shots of this shit from our glasses. First you have to drain yours,” Saruhiko said, drinking the last sip from his own glass.

“What! I have way more than you!” Misaki protested.

“I started earlier than you. And I’ve had more since you’ve been here,” Saruhiko insisted. “Now drink up.”

“Man Saruhiko,” Misaki said between sips, “All you want to do is drink.”

“You use to be cool, Saruhiko,” Saruhiko said in an intentionally poor, not to mention high pitched imitation of Misaki’s voice. “The power is out, what do you want to do, draw some pictures?”

“Whatever,” Misaki grumbled, downing the rest of his drink.

“Alright, ready?” Saruhiko said, pouring a small amount of liquor into his cup, then the same amount into Misaki’s. “Cheers.”

Misaki tapped his glass against Saruhiko’s and threw the shot back. He was used to the taste and prepared for the burn. He was getting better at this.

“Nice!” Saruhiko said loudly, “Again!” And he refills both glasses.

“Saru, why are you trying to get me drunk?” Misaki asked, his world spinning more than ever.

“I’m not,” he said, tossing his next shot back. “I’m trying to get me drunk. You’re just along for the ride.” He filled his glass once more. “And you should consider yourself lucky – this is expensive shit.” He downed another shot. “And you’re two shots behind now.”

Misaki stared him down, but Saruhiko ignored him, filling his glass up again. “You’re actually going to throw up.” He drank his own shot, tasting the alcohol less and less as his vision blurred more and more. He held out the glass to Saruhiko, who filled it and he drank it again. “Ok, we’re even,” Misaki said, feeling the warmth in his esophagus, hoping it was all going to stay down.

“Nope,” Saruhiko said, tossing another back.

“You are a bottomless pit! Now if only you could eat vegetables like that.”

“Gross,” he commented, refilling Misaki’s glass, then his own.

“Saruhiko, can I ask you something?”

“I don’t like that tone…” he said, holding the drink up to his lips.

“Why did you –”

Saruhiko cut him off. “Misaki,” he said sternly. “Don’t. We’re more than half drunk, we’re stuck here tonight regardless of where this conversation goes, can we just enjoy the evening for what it is and not make things complicated?”

Misaki stared at Saruhiko for a second. Saruhiko raised his eyebrows, then held out his glass to cheers.

Misaki finally rolled his eyes, tilted his glass against Saruhiko’s, and the two of them downed their drinks.

“Oh shit I feel dizzy,” Misaki said, placing a hand on his forehead in attempt to stop the spinning.

“You’re drunk.” Saruhiko said, filling his glass again.

“I’m cold,” Yata whined.

“Put another piece of wood on the fire,” Saruhiko said clambering to his feet and swaying a little before putting a hand on the wall to steady himself. He returned quickly with another sweater, which he dropped in Misaki’s lap.

He went to sit down, tripping on his own feet and ending up falling to the floor.

Yata laughed at him, pulling the sweater over his head.

“Shut up,” Saruhiko said, grabbing at the blanket behind them and wrapping it around the two of them.

“Saru, what are you – ”

“Shh,” he hushed Misaki, but pulled him closer so the blanket could stretch around the pair of them, shoulder to shoulder.

Misaki sighed, wishing he could ask those questions plaguing his mind, but Saruhiko was right, now, while they were drunk and stuck in the apartment, was not the time. Instead, he leaned closer, allowing his head to drop into the crook of Saruhiko’s neck.

And Saruhiko did the last thing Misaki would have expected; he wrapped an arm around Misaki’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Misaki tugged the blanket tighter around himself, and Saruhiko did the same with the other end of the blanket.

“Better?” Saruhiko asked.

“Saru is warm,” Misaki said so quietly that had their heads not been only mere inches apart, Saruhiko wouldn’t have heard him.

The wind howled louder than ever, blowing rain or ice or snow or some combination of the three against the window, making it sound as though it would come straight through the glass.

“Can we lie down?” Misaki asked.

Saruhiko pulled a couple of pillows down off the couch and placed them under their heads, and the two of them lied, facing the fire, Saruhiko wrapped around a shivering Misaki, holding him tightly. He tugged the blanket tighter around them, and felt the warmth of the fire on his face. He reached around to pull his glasses off, placing them safely on the table behind him.

“Thank you,” Misaki whispered. Saruhiko thought he might already be asleep.

“Go to sleep,” he said anyway.

“ ‘m already asleep,” Misaki replied.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Saruhiko said, wrapping his arm tighter around Misaki’s waist, breathing in the smell of him, that all too familiar smell of soap, some kind of sauce, and slight hint of cinnamon. It was a smell he could never forget.

And now, his face buried in the crook of Misaki’s neck, he felt at peace.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

No response. Just shallow, even breathing. It was all the reply he needed.

He didn’t want to fall asleep. He wanted this moment to last forever.

No inhibitions.

No fighting.

No arguing.

No discussions.

Just Misaki and himself.

He sighed deeply, savoring the moment.

Until he fell asleep.

* * *

 

When Saruhiko awoke, he realized three things.

The first was that his head was pounding to the point he was convinced that someone had wedged an axe in it and it was going to split in half.

The second thing he noticed was that he was warm. Not too warm, but not freezing cold, as he usually was when he woke up. This lead him to his final realization.

He wasn’t alone.

He was careful not to move, but he took inventory of his limbs, and found that his right arm was dead asleep, as though there was a heavy weight on it. His left arm was wrapped around something… or someone, rather.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the blurry mop of orange fluff that he’d been unknowingly inhaling. He couldn’t focus well without his glasses, but it didn’t matter.

That sealed it. His suspicions were true.

He was on the floor of his apartment, wrapped around none other than Yata Misaki.

His head swam, tripping over thoughts and making his skull ache to the point that he almost outwardly cringed. A thousand questions sprung up in his mind, each in sequence and each dashing the last to pieces. He couldn’t even comprehend it. He just clenched his eyes against the fury of thoughts and ideas that bombarded his achingly vulnerable brain. It all however, amounted to one thing. How on earth did this happen?

But the pain in his head reminded him that he wasn’t likely going to remember the events that transpired last night any time soon. He’d obviously consumed far too much liquor last night.

The fact was, he was here.

A part of him wanted to jump up and bolt out of the apartment. Another part of him wanted to play along with whatever happened and never let go. Despite the apprehension in his mind, he felt so good right here right now.

He knew it wasn’t ok. He knew he couldn’t go back to where they had been, let alone jump to a point in time where this would ever be considered ok. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He wanted to squeeze him tighter, never letting him go. But he couldn’t, so instead he settled for closing his eyes, and allowing the feeling and smell of Misaki to overtake him.

Five minutes, he told himself. No more.

He ordered himself to stop thinking. He could allow himself five minutes of bliss. He didn’t want to think about how it could never actually be like this. But everyone could dream. When you were a child, you dreamed you could fly. So why couldn’t he wish for this? He knew it was equally as unattainable, but he could wish.

He took deep breaths, inhaling the ginger’s scent of soap and cinnamon mixed with sweat and stale alcohol radiating from his pores, a smell that on anyone else would be revolting. But to Saruhiko, he smelled like heaven. His hair smelled like the same shampoo he had always used, despite the slight hint of grease mixed in.

He felt Misaki’s slender arms under him. His bones were donned with more muscle than Saruhiko had remembered, but he was still slender. He could feel Misaki’s warm and steady breath on his hand, cooling only seconds after each rise of his chest. He opened his eyes, taking in the familiar orange colour of his hair; the pale, lightly freckled colour of his skin.

His heart ached in a way he didn’t know it could ache. It was like watching the one thing you wanted most in life slip away. He knew he couldn’t have it. And yet he continued to lie here, teasing himself and giving himself just enough of a taste so that when he wrenched himself away, the pain would be amplified a hundred fold.

One more minute, he told himself.

For one more minute, he stayed like that. Feeling Misaki. Touching Misaki. Hearing Misaki. Smelling Misaki. Seeing Misaki. Taking him in with every ounce of every sense that he had, because he knew it couldn’t last. His senses were completely overloaded, and his head was so full of love and pain and confusion.

Until finally he gently lifted his arm and pulled himself slowly from the mass of limbs and blankets, doing all he could not to wake the boy sleeping soundly next to him. He needed to put himself back together. If Misaki awoke now, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t fall apart completely. He was too emotionally vulnerable. A place that he’d sworn to himself that he’d never let himself be again.

Once he’d fully extracted himself, he took a deep breath, sighing in relief as he found his glasses on the table next to him and slid them up his nose, bringing him back to reality.

The apartment was cold after all. The lights were all off save for the Christmas tree, which bathed the room in a warm, gold glow, indicating the return of the electricity.

Good, he thought to himself. He slowly stood up, feeling his head spinning. It had been a long time since he’d been _this_ hungover. He drank a lot, but not quite to the magnitude of last night.

He steadied himself on the counter with his left hand, pressing his right to his forehead, willing his head to stop spinning long enough to get the coffee pot on.

Somehow, as he began brewing his morning coffee, he welcomed the pain. Each time he glanced back over at the floor in front of the pile of ashes in the fireplace, his head throbbed. It was likely because his brain wasn’t fit to see that far of a distance, but he took it as another omen. And the physical pain was a welcomed distraction from anything else he might be feeling.

Finally with coffee in hand, Saruhiko returned to the living room and seated himself on the couch. When he glanced forward, a piece of something he said last night came back to him.

_Why do you want to set up the tree anyway? It’s not like there will be anything going underneath._

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched Misaki curl in on himself on the edge of the tree skirt.

* * *

 

Misaki awoke to bright white light spilling in from the window. Even before he opened his eyes, the brightness hurt. He clenched his eyes shut, and the pain exploded in his head, radiating all the way from one ear to the other, and from his neck to his eyeballs.

This is what dying must feel like, he thought to himself.

“You alive?” A familiar voice asked.

He knew that voice. He knew it so well. But why couldn’t he place it? He clenched his eyes shut, replaying the words over in his head. It sounded almost like… but no. It couldn’t be.

“Hey idiot, wake up,” the voice came again.

Ok, maybe it could be.

But how? Why? When? Where? What the hell had happened?

The more he thought, the more his head throbbed. He closed his eyes tight not only against the brightness around him, but against the pain, against the thoughts threatening his very being. He really thought he might be dying.

“Wh…what?” he finally forced. He sounded like he’d swallowed a frog. And his mouth tasted like it too. He swallowed against the rising bile in his throat, and his stomach clenched, as though he was going to throw up.

“Misaki,” Saruhiko said flatly.

He meant to answer, but it was more of a gargle that escaped his lips.

“Kusanagi-san just called. He’s coming to get you. He wants to know if you can walk.”

Walk? What? Why wouldn’t he be able to walk?

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Saruhiko asked.

Misaki rolled over on his back, closing his eyes against the bright lights and the pounding in his head.

“Let me refresh your memory,” Saruhiko said. “Here, drink this.” A cup appeared in front of him, and Misaki noted the rich smell of coffee and the steam rising from the cup.

“You decided it would be a great idea to take on a group of Greens alone, lost, and I just happened to find you and dragged your sorry, injured ass up here.”

Ok, that he began to remember, but that still didn’t explain why he couldn’t remember anything _else,_ and this headache could _not_ be the result of a battle lost. He’d had concussions before, and this was far worse.

He began to shiver, his back feeling cold, like he’d lost whatever he was sleeping on. Did Saruhiko steal his blanket in attempt to wake him up? It wouldn’t be the first time…

“Then you proceeded to drink way too much and passed out on my living room floor,” Saruhiko informed him. Misaki heard the familiar sound of slurping, indicating that Saru was also sucking on a cup of coffee.

But alcohol? Misaki didn’t drink. Nor did he drink coffee. What the hell??

Something was missing, a blank in his memory. But thinking about it just made his head hurt worse. Finally he managed to drag his aching body into a sitting position, feeling a twinge of pain in his ankle in the process. Glancing down, he found his foot swollen and bandaged. That must have been what Saruhiko meant when he said injured.

“Still hurt?” Saruhiko asked.

Misaki nodded, picking up the cup of coffee beside him. He swallowed the bitter liquid, which Saruhiko had obviously loaded with sugar. He hated coffee, but he’d resorted to it before when he’d been too tired to function. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and finally asked, “What the hell happened, Saru?”

“Nothing happened. You just drank too much,” Saruhiko informed him.

“What about you?”

“Yeah, me too,” he admitted.

Misaki glanced up at his ex partner and best friend. Saruhiko was seated on the couch behind him, wearing a heavy sweater. His hair was flatter than usual, and his face was pale and hallow looking, like he hadn’t been taking care of himself. That wasn’t abnormal. What was weird was how vulnerable his face looked. Saruhiko always managed to keep his walls up, his façade intact. But somehow right now, he looked sad. Like something had happened, or he’d lost something important to him. He just looked defeated.

“Are you ok?” Misaki finally asked.

“Fine,” Saruhiko said, grabbing his phone and glancing down at the screen. “Kusanagi is almost here. We should get you downstairs.”

Misaki watched him a moment longer, wondering if he should continue to press. But he ultimately decided against it.

Saruhiko helped him hobble down the stairs, making Misaki really wish he could remember what had happened last night. But nothing had returned to him by the time they reached the ground floor. Kusanagi was waiting for them.

“You guys alright?” He asked upon seeing them.

“Headache,” Misaki grumbled.

“Yeah,” Saruhiko said.

“You know, you’re welcome to join us,” Kusanagi said to Saruhiko.

Misaki watched as Saruhiko appeared to skip a beat, which was completely out of character for him.

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Saruhiko finally said. “But thanks.”

“Well if you happen to finish early, you know where to find us,” Kusanagi said. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

“Sure.”

Kusanagi walked around to the driver side of the car.

“Merry Christmas, Saruhiko,” Misaki said. “Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Saruhiko replied after a second.

“I’ll see you around,” Misaki said, sadly.

“Guess so.”

Saruhiko stood on the pavement, watching the car depart, feeling a gaping, longing hole in his chest.

Feelings really were awful things.


End file.
